Chapter Eleven
TOMMY
Unknown Number
So, last night, this really weird thing happened. My friend left the bar without saying goodbye, which is completely out of character. While she keeps telling me she’s fine, I know her well enough to guess that she is far from okay. I also think that you had something to do with her sharp exit.
Unknown Number
This is Darcy, BTW. I got your number from my husband’s phone.
I pause my spin session and read through the text I just received on my new iPhone.
Me
Were you expecting a response to this? Because all I see is a bunch of statements, no questions.
Me
Hi, BTW, Darcy. I hope you’re having a great day.
If three little dots could look furious, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what I’m witnessing right now as they frantically pop up and disappear while she types out a response.
Unknown Number
I guessed you would reply with that. Nothing is ever your fault, is it?
Abandoning my workout session altogether, I jump down from my spin bike and head for the water cooler set at the back of my home gym, refilling my water bottle as I chew over Darcy’s observations.
Early morning workouts are for sure part of my schedule, but that’s not why I’ve been pounding my cardio equipment for the past half hour.
I needed to take my mind off Jenna and the way she looked at me last night. I can still feel the sting of her words as they cut through me, the tone of her voice.
She meant it when she called me sick. And she’s right.
It was a dick move to engineer that prank with the blonde chick who was well up for it in exchange for free drinks for her and her friends all night.
Timing it was easy enough; all I had to do was wait for Jenna to grab her purse and head for the bathroom—as she does at some point on every night out—and we could slip into the restroom just before she noticed.
I had zero intention of letting that girl go down on me. But despite making it clear to Jenna that she didn’t touch me like that, I know Jenna didn’t believe me.
And why the fuck should I care what she thinks? I’m free to be with whoever I want. I warned her not to play games, but she just wouldn’t fucking listen.
Guilt snakes through me, and I push it away.
Me
If Jenna doesn’t want to tell you what went down, then that’s her private business to withhold. To be blunt, I can’t see how the fuck it concerns you anyway. Don’t you have a baby to care for?
Unknown Number
I have nothing but inappropriate responses for you. Most of which will likely get me arrested.
Me
For what it’s worth, I did chase after her and try to calm her down. She wasn’t willing to listen to me, and then she stormed off into the night.
Unknown Number
Oh, so you did do something wrong. Try apologizing again.
Me
We owe each other nothing.
Unknown Number
Wrong. She owes YOU nothing. You owe her an apology.
Me
I say this with the utmost kindness: fuck off, Darcy.
Unknown Number
You know, I really wanted to believe that you were different from the last name on the back of your jersey.
My dad was a complete douchebag, too, but neither Jack nor I turned out to be a manipulative narcissist despite sharing his DNA.
You aren’t any different from Alex though, are you?
There isn’t a good bone in your body. What you need to ask yourself, Tommy, is, where is your dad now?
Huh? I assume in some gutter somewhere, having burned every single bridge he ever had.
I don’t know how you can follow in his footsteps with a clear conscience.
I wanted to believe you were better than that because just like Jenna, I look for the good in people.
Cortisol tears through my body as I read Darcy’s message with trembling hands.
Throwing down my water bottle, I begin typing out an enraged response, explaining that I wouldn’t know where my dad is since he turned his back on me as a child and again when I was seventeen.
My fingers hammer the keyboard as I set the record straight, telling this posh little British girl exactly why I carry the last name Schneider even though, deep down, I hate it with every part of me.
That the alternative of wearing my mom’s last name feels just as painful, but at least this way, I can erase my dad altogether.
I don’t hit Send on the message. Instead, I stare down at the words, which feel more and more empty each time I convince myself that I’m nothing like the guy who rejected me.
Every bridge I’ve ever had has been burned, including the one I once had with my mom.
Accepting the truth about who I really am and the trajectory of my career is hard, but telling the world—or even Jenna’s best friend over a text—feels like an insurmountable challenge I will never overcome.
The world would laugh at me.
Poor little bad boy, all angry because he has daddy and mommy issues.
The more I consider how the public would react, if they even cared, the more bitterness and anger twist at my insides.
It feels like I’m backed into a corner with zero viable options other than to keep fighting and hold everyone who could ever make me feel something—only to inevitably tear me apart when they let me down—at arm’s length.
Detaching myself from people is what I do best. It’s what I’ve got inked over my heart.
It’s an approach that hasn’t failed me yet.
So, why is letting go of someone as toxic as Jenna Miller so fucking difficult? And why am I racing out of my apartment and grabbing my car keys so I can head over to her place right now?
None of this makes any sense.
I don’t need to hand-deliver any more leggings. We have no reason to speak to each other ever again. Being strangers who casually catch sight of each other in Lloyd’s after games is exactly what we should be. Jenna told me that I turn her into a person she doesn’t like and … same.
Curtis Freeman can attest to that.
Sawyer called me out on it.
I’m so far removed from the player I could be; I barely recognize my own game anymore—or at least not the one I played when I was a kid.
Trouble is, I’m so lost that I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way back, and the answers don’t lie in Jenna Miller’s apartment.
That I know for sure.
My hand hovers over the brass knocker set in the center of Jenna’s white front door.
I should’ve deleted her contact info right after I gave her the leggings, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
The girl has a mouth on her—and I bet a slap to match.
Accepting my fate—and potentially a bruised cheek—I knock once and step back to a minimum safe distance.
It’s possible she’s out, maybe at practice.
Yeah, she isn’t in. I convince myself she’s not home, already hitting Call on the elevator when her door swings open.
On sight of me, she flares her nostrils as she stands in her doorway, dressed in the tiniest pair of black Lycra shorts and a sports bra to match.
The worst thing I could do right now is check her out, and naturally, that’s exactly what I do.
She’s the hottest girl I have ever seen, and immediately, I regret leaving my apartment wearing only flimsy athletic shorts and a Dri-FIT T-shirt.
They hide nothing.
“You’ve got some fucking gall.” She folds her arms across her chest, and, fuck, this situation cannot get any worse.
In a declaration of peace, I hold my palms out in front of me. I know things are way past salvageable, but there are at least three other apartments on this floor that can potentially hear everything being said.
“I’m not here to argue,” I say, voice low and calm. “I came to talk.”
Jenna doesn’t want to talk—that much is obvious. She pushes a manicured hand through her long, dark hair. “Go talk with your hookup.”
A small laugh leaves my chest as I take a cautious step toward her. It feels like I’m feeding a wild animal and trying not to become the meal.
“That sounds a lot like the pot calling the kettle black.” I try to suppress the smirk I know would only enrage her further. “Weren’t you in another guy’s bed the other night?”
Both shoulders bunch around her ears. “So, you did fuck her then?” She scoffs and reaches for the door, ready to slam it shut. “You make me sick.”
“Wait!” I lurch forward, catching the door just before she crushes my hand in the jamb.
Jenna tries to push it shut, but I’m much stronger, even when she leans her entire weight against it.
“Leave me the fuck alone,” she hisses through the narrow opening, trying to keep her voice low but vicious.
“Not going to happen.”
In one motion, I’m through the door, and she’s stumbling backward into her hallway, ready to come for me as I quickly close the door behind me and brace for impact.
I catch her arms above her head, holding both her wrists in one hand and quickly flipping us around, pressing her back into the door.
She fights and wriggles to break free, but unlike when I let her go last night, I’m not making the same mistake twice.
When Jenna finally realizes her efforts are futile, her face morphs from desperate to cunning. “If you don’t let go of me, I’m going to scream. I could have the police here in minutes, and your career—what’s left of it—would be up in smoke within the hour.”
Challenge blooms low in my gut, picking up my heart rate and coursing adrenaline through every artery.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jenna. You’ve been desperate for me to make you scream since the second you laid eyes on me.”
Despite her vulnerable position, I watch the way her pupils dilate, red creeping up the center of her chest.
I drop my eyes down her body, unable to suppress the blood flow as it pumps to my dick.
“Take a good look, Tommy. Soak it all in because you will never see me like this again. You’ll never put your hands on me like this again.”
The zip fastening up the center of her sports bra sparks my curiosity.
“Tell me something, Hellion.”
I tease the zipper pull between my fingers, and her eyes blow wide. Despite her thrashing around in my grasp, she isn’t going anywhere.
“Is this zip real or just for aesthetic purposes?” I pull it down over the first couple of teeth. Taunting her.
“It isn’t real,” she blurts out.
I quirk a doubtful brow. “Are you sure you’re telling me the truth? I don’t like liars.”
Heat creeps up her neck, and she bites down on her bottom lip. An internal war is taking place inside this girl, and I’m devouring every second of her anguish.
“So, if I slip this down a little further”—I pull the zipper past another couple of teeth—“your tits won’t spill free?”
She shakes her head vigorously. “I can guarantee you they won’t.”
She tips her chin up to look at me, her defiance inflating my dick, to the point of pain.
Jenna isn’t the only one being tortured right now.
“I can also guarantee that if you pull that zipper down any further, I’ll make sure you see the back of a jail cell tonight. Although I wouldn’t be so concerned about the offense you’re committing and more about the way my brother will dismember you.”
Not a single word leaving her mouth is genuine.
“If you hate my touch so much, why is it that I can see your nipples?”
I pull the zipper down again, and she sucks in a sharp breath. By now, we both know it’s real and not aesthetic, a bit like the magnetic pull between us.
“What if I took one of your peaked nipples into my mouth? Would you call the police on me then?”
She swallows thickly and tries to speak.
“Good,” I say in response to her silence, pulling the zipper down once more. “I’m tired of hearing the incessant bullshit that spews from your pretty little mouth on the daily. Let your body do the talking for once.”
With the zipper over halfway to being undone, I’m only a fraction away from setting eyes on Jenna’s full chest.
My fingers tease the zipper pull once more, and I search her gaze for the green light to go further. “Tell me to stop.”
She remains quiet, thighs pinching together.
One small tug, and I’m over another tooth. I drop my eyes down her body. “At this point, I guess you have two choices.”
“What are they?” she whispers, voice laced with lust.
I pull the zipper over one more tooth, and the pink edges of her nipples come into view.
Christ, she’s beautiful.
“Option one: let me remove your bra and have me banged up in custody. Or option two: be a good girl, quit fucking around, and let me bang you against this door.”
I draw a steadying breath into my lungs as I will my teetering orgasm to hold off.
“Your move, Miller.”